


It's That Kind of Party

by AfterDarcotex (decotex)



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: F/M, Food Sex, M/M, Multi, Oil, Threesome, don't lie you were totally hoping for this scene, well here it is you sick fucks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-07
Updated: 2015-06-07
Packaged: 2018-04-03 07:09:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4091776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/decotex/pseuds/AfterDarcotex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yeah. It's the threesome we all wanted. </p><p>Featuring overpriced olive oil, home decor, and the standard amount of murder.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's That Kind of Party

“Is it that kind of party?”

To her credit, Bedelia didn’t choke on her oysters.

She set her fork down delicately and looked at Hannibal, who in return looked at her-smiling.

Bedelia wasn’t surprised so much that he appeared to be considering the offer as she was that he also appeared to be asking her permission.

The moment passed.

Hannibal shrugged and resumed eating.

“It could be.”

\---

“You let him go.”

She would have found amusing under any other circumstance (a less lethal one, at least) how affronted Hannibal could manage to look, when he thought himself misunderstood.

“What else would you have me do?” he asked, which, to be fair, was a good point, although that wasn’t _really_ what she had been asking.

Before she could point this out, there was a knock on the door.

They stared at each other. Without breaking eye contact, Hannibal walked to the door and opened it.

Anthony stood at the doorstep, shifting his feet.

“Did you forget something?” asked Hannibal.

“Actually, you know.” Anthony smiled nervously. He really was quite charming. It was utterly wasted on Hannibal, of course. “I walked all the way to my car, and then I thought-forgive me if I’m misinterpreting, but if the two of you are willing, I’d like to impose on your hospitality for a little while longer tonight.”

He glanced briefly from Hannibal’s face to hers. _Puppy dog eyes_ , someone who definitely wasn’t Bedelia thought. It was all she could do to keep a neutral expression.

“In the biblical sense, if that wasn’t clear,” Anthony added.

Hannibal was silent for a moment. Then, he turned to her.

“Veronica?”

Somewhere on the outskirts of her consciousness, in a rural town at the edge of her mind where the remnants of her sanity lived, she considered the absurdity of her life and its propensity to get even stranger.

Her morbid curiosity, very possibly cheered on by her clitoris, reached up through her head and nodded.

\---

Hannibal’s bedroom was immaculately furnished in dark reds and purples. He’d hired a French interior decorator to do the rest of the house, forgoing a personal touch for convenience and immediacy, but this bedroom she’d been instructed to leave alone.

Each piece of furniture Hannibal had lovingly hand-picked, the dark oak wall trim installed by hand (yes, Bedelia could confirm, in a suit).

It was technically her bedroom too in that she slept there. It was not her bedroom in any other capacity.

“You have a beautiful home,” Anthony commented, unaware that he had just entered what was essentially Dracula’s flamboyant coffin.

“You’re too kind,” Hannibal said, absently stroking a custom wall applique. “Please excuse me for a moment. Make yourself at home.” He left, shutting the door softly behind him.

Bedelia would be lying if she said she didn’t listen for the click of a lock.

Clearly unperturbed, Anthony gestured at the space next to where Bedelia was sitting on the bed. “May I?”

She nodded.

This should be the part, Bedelia realized, where she opened the window and strongly suggested he jump. Whatever broken bones he received would be worth it.

Of course, that wasn’t her play.

Anthony smiled at her. “I hope I’m not being too . . . forward.”

Polite _and_ charming, if indeed a bit forward. Bedelia optimistically predicted a 60% chance that Hannibal didn’t return in a plastic suit.

“Not at all. You’ve been perfectly civil. My husband is _very_ appreciative of civility.”

“I’ve noticed,” he said, completely missing the hint. “I know your husband fairly well, at least professionally, but I barely know you at all. Can you tell me about yourself, Mrs. Fell? If we’re really going to do this, I feel like we should at least be on a first name basis.”

“Veronica.”

He smiled and held out his hand. “Anthony.”

They shook on it.

“I grew up in America, on the East coast. Met my husband at a charity gala, married seven years this July. I have a background in cardiology.”

Anthony looked impressed.

“Cardiology? It’s not Doctor Fell and Doctor Fell, is it?”

“Not quite.”

“Regardless, I think you are possibly the most intimidating couple I’ve ever met.”

 _Perceptive_ , Bedelia thought. “Do we scare you?”

“No, although I’ll take special care to stay in your good graces."

Not perceptive enough, then.

“And you do _this_ -” He gestured vaguely, presumably to indicate their impending sexual experience. “-often?”

“No,” she answered truthfully, while not so truthfully leaving out the fact that she and Hannibal did not do this, even in its most basic form, _ever._ “Do you?”

“No. It is very French though, don’t you think? A Parisian romance." He eased down onto the bed, propping himself up with his elbows. He struck Bedelia as someone who was always on the verge of winking. “And we make an attractive trio, if I may be so bold.”

Anthony had a young, playful, spontaneous kind of aura-the type of person who books weekend trips to Botswana on impulse, or adopts a kitten because it caught his eye from the store window. He was out of his league, mentally, in this case, but she appreciated it nonetheless. It was a shame he had fallen in with the wrong crowd-the wrong crowd being herself, in this case.

“You know,” he continued. “When Dr. Fell invited me to “dinner with his wife”, I assumed it was his way of subtly telling me he was married.”

“And now?”“Now I’m rethinking every time I’ve been turned down in the past. How many of them were opportunities in disguise?”

“Honestly? I wouldn’t keep my hopes up.”

He laughed. “You’re probably right.”

Bedelia was still coming to terms with this particular situation. This was a growing trend in her life, although she would argue it was caused not by her inability to accept reality but by the fact that her reality was increasingly ridiculous.

The door opened. Hannibal re-entered the room holding two light-colored bottles. Setting them down carefully on the mantle, he began to unbutton his vest.

“More wine?” Anthony asked. “Brilliant.”

“Not wine. May I take your jacket?”

Glancing at Bedelia, he stood, slipped off his jacket, and handed it to Hannibal.

“How do we do this, then?” he asked, as Hannibal delicately draped it over a hanger. “I have to confess my ignorance of the proper etiquette for this situation.”

“I believe the concept,” Hannibal said, walking back to the unopened bottles. “Stays relatively unchanged. As for the execution, I do have some ideas. The carpet, please.”

Anthony walked to the center of the carpet in front of the bed.

“On your knees, if you wouldn’t mind.”

He paused, and then smiled widely at Bedelia-a kind of look-how-kinky-your-husband-is smile. He had a pretty good idea where this was going and he was clearly on board.

Bedelia, for her part, was staring more blatantly than she ever had in her life. She was fairly sure that Hannibal was about to either snap Anthony’s neck or pull out his own penis and she wasn’t sure which one would shock her more. No, she did-it would be the latter.

Instead, Hannibal knelt down in front of him, still holding both of the bottles. He set one down on the carpet, and carefully uncorked the other.

Anthony looked surprised, and then smiled. “Olive oil? Used by the ancient Greeks as the earliest known lubricant.”

“Correct.”

“Usually that sort of history talk is a mood-killer, but I get the impression that with you two it would- _ah_.” And then Hannibal effectively shut him up by raising the bottle and pouring it, slowly, down the front of Anthony’s shirt.

It ran down his chest and the insides of his thighs, leaving a long, wet, trail that clung to his body.

And-yeah, Bedelia made the executive decision that she was into this.

This was good.

Anthony appeared to be having a religious experience. He watched reverently as Hannibal rubbed the oil through his shirt. Bedelia almost expected him to moan.

“I can’t help but notice,” Anthony said, through half-closed eyes. “That this is Lambda. Would I be correct in pricing that bottle at two-hundred euros?”

“You would.”

“Wow. Really puts my seven dollar tube of Astroglide- _oh, wow_ -to shame.”

Hannibal shrugged. “Spare no expense.”

“Couldn’t even take the time to undress, could you?” Bedelia threw out, because someone had to say it.

They paused.

“I actually find the feeling of wet fabric on skin very sensual,” Hannibal commented, way too conversationally for a man currently engaged in near sodomy. “Don’t you?”

“Oh yeah,” said Anthony, a little breathlessly. “I do _now_ , anyway.”

And then, with confidence possibly nearing that of Hannibal himself, Anthony picked up the second bottle, poured some into his hand, and rubbed it below Hannibal’s neck.

Bedelia wouldn’t have _dared._ She doubted even people who didn’t know he was a serial killer would have dared.

Fortunately, Hannibal seemed to be rolling with it. He moved forward so that Anthony had a better reach.

Evidently this was the game.

Bedelia, a little bit shamefully, realized that she was squirming.

And then Hannibal put his hand on the back of Anthony’s neck and, very gently, kissed him.

Up until that point Hannibal had been bordering on clinical, and this sudden sweetness surprised her.

Anthony looked over at her. “Are you going to join us?”

Ah, fuck it.

Yes. Yes she was.

\---

They ended up on the bed, eventually. The clothes had also come off and were lying in a soggy heap in the corner of the room. Bedelia was thankful for this, because while she had been all about the wet clothes aesthetic she wasn’t sure how that was going to work for the rest of the event.

Currently she was having sex with Anthony, which was nice. She had been kind of hoping to do that at some point during the night. He was sweet and excited and looked like he couldn’t believe his luck, and she’d never been shy herself.

Through mutual silent agreement, she and Hannibal had refrained from an abundance of sexual contact. She wasn’t really up to the mental gymnastics required to cross that particular boundary.

At the moment, Hannibal was taking a break, lying on his side next to them and looking very pleased with himself.

Eventually, he sat up. “May I?”

Breathless, Anthony nodded and sat back on his heels. “All yours.”

“I was talking,” Hannibal said, slowly. “To Veronica.”

“You were . . .” Anthony looked at Bedelia, then at Hannibal. And then he really looked at Hannibal.

He brightened. _“Oh.”_

\---

Bedelia faded into consciousness the next morning, with the sun streaming through the curtains. She had a vague memory of Anthony leaving in the middle of the night, mumbling something about work and how it was a good thing he had gym clothes in his car.

Alarmingly, she realized that she had fallen asleep against Hannibal’s chest. Maybe if she laid very still-but no, having an almost superhuman awareness, he opened his eyes.

For a moment, they stared at each other.

“Playing with your food,” she whispered impulsively.

He smiled-a real, genuine, smile, with the minimum amount of murderous intent he was capable of expressing-and probably just as impulsively, leaned forward and kissed her.

She took some shameful pride in being one of his favorites-someone that he so obviously approved of, when he approved of so little else.

It was nice, she decided.

Not durable or representative of any _safety_ , but nice.

They would never speak of it again.

\---

She found him in his study the next morning, several hours after she’d fallen back asleep.

He was as put together as always-like he’d spent the previous evening filing taxes rather than being ridden into the mattress by an enthusiastic Italian.

“Nice touch.”

He looked up.

“The olive oil, I mean.”

“It seemed appropriate.”

Bedelia sat on the back of the sofa, watching him.

“Why did you agree to that? Not only agree but . . .” She thought back to him and Anthony the previous night. Then, she thought about taking a cold shower. “ . . . _participate._ ”

“A gift.”

“I don’t need your charity, and I doubt you’re willing to give it.”

“A point, then.”

“A point?”

He got up and walked to the window, staring for a moment before answering. “When I showed him out, before, you were surprised that I let him go. Is your view of me so simple? An amalgamation of animalistic urges and blind violence?”

“I’ll be honest, you don’t have an amazing track record.”

“I don’t kill indiscriminately, without purpose. I am more complicated than that.”

“You are.”

He smiled, and Bedelia thought, _But not that complicated._

“Do you regret it?” he asked.

“I regret many things. I regret them to such an extent that a spur of the moment hook-up is laughably inconsequential.”

Bedelia felt herself drifting a million miles away to a universe where she never met Hannibal Lecter. She might be married, with kids. She wondered if that Bedelia would be having threesomes with a serial killer and an Italian literati.

She wondered if that Bedelia would be jealous.

“Did you enjoy yourself?” she heard herself say.

It was an absurd question, and she managed to catch Lecter off guard with it. He tilted his head, considering.

“Yes. I suppose I did.”

\---

That night found Bedelia struggling into a pair of Louboutins.

Hannibal was out-charity gala at the Carlo Felice-so she was treating herself to dinner at a local French restaurant. (Treating herself in that she was going out, rather than the food actually being better or even on par with Hannibal’s cooking.)

From the hallway, she noticed a recipe book propped upright and open on the kitchen counter. This was odd because Hannibal didn’t usually use recipes-something about true art stemming from spontaneity.

Overbalanced immediately on upon slipping into the left heel, she caught herself on the bannister.

_She’s beauty, she’s grace . ._

Hannibal didn’t “forget to put things away” or “accidentally leave things out.” Maybe he’d found a recipe he wanted to make later?

Right heel done, she tested her balance. Fine, as long as she didn’t have to run away from anything.

Ignoring the voice in her head assuring her that yes, of course she would have to run away from something because that was the kind of life she led, she walked towards the front door.

She stopped.

Her reservation was at nine. She was going to be late.

She walked back to the kitchen. The recipe book was illuminated by a single hanging light, positioned so that the open page faced the door.

Casually, she looked down at the recipe.

\---

**Basic Tuscan Marinade**

Prep Time: 15-20 minutes

  1. Mix salt and olive oil (use extra virgin for best flavor) in a bowl. Add desired flavoring (etc. soy sauce, honey, etc.) and let sit.

  2. Pour marinade over desired type of meat. Wrap in cloth. To maximize flavor, rub marinade into meat with fingers, keeping the meat warm.

  3. Cook as desired.




**Author's Note:**

> And thus ends my erotica debut. It’s been a long time coming, to be honest. The moment I saw this scene, I was like, “Okay, my time has come.”
> 
> I see that other people beat me too it. I considered naming this something else but to be honest, I see no problem with multiple versions of this scene. God knows we needed it.
> 
> Full disclosure, I totally have a thing for wet clothing. If this were a real scene on the show, I would make it about 10 seconds.
> 
> Obvious disclaimer: I know nothing. The recipe is bullshit, the price of the olive oil is bullshit (although Lambda really is the most expensive olive oil in the world), and plenty of other things are also probably bullshit. Using olive oil as lubricant-well, you can actually do that, but I recommend a tarp or something. Also I hear it makes you smell like grass for a few days.
> 
> But hey, you do you.


End file.
